


There and Back Again

by ama



Category: The Queen's Thief - Megan Whalen Turner
Genre: Family, Father-Son Relationship, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Missing Scene, Politics, Religion, Siblings, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-05-21 11:24:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14914488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ama/pseuds/ama
Summary: After delivering his report to Eugenides, Costis goes home to visit his family. He wrestles with the new person he has become since he saw them last, the secrets he should reveal and the ones he can't, and his uncertain relationship with Kamet, who probably hates him. And looming over all of it is the king's mysterious suggestion about a ship he may or may not be taking to Roa.





	1. Chapter 1

Kamet didn’t even look at Costis when he was finally led away by one of the king’s attendants. Not that it mattered. In a crowded room as big as the Attolian throne room, Kamet probably couldn’t have picked out his face even if he were at full capacity, and now he was bearing the same dazed expression as everyone struggling to accept the fact that they had been thoroughly outwitted by Attolis Eugenides, sovereign ruler of Attolia.

Costis empathized.

“His Majesty wants Costis to return to the guards’ quarters.”

He looked over his shoulder to see Philologos speaking to one of the guards who had escorted him up from the prisons.

“I’m right here,” he said, irritated, and Philologos looked almost abashed. “I’m not under arrest anymore. I can go where I please without these oafs having a say.”

A vein twitched in Meliton’s forehead. Costis had been unreasonably rude to the guards since his return to Attolia. He was beginning to understand the appeal of being rude to people when he was angry, and he felt a new kinship with Eugenides, although he didn’t know if that would last for very long.

“Wherever His Majesty pleases,” Philologos corrected in a cool voice.

Gods above, he’d forgotten how arrogant the king’s attendants were. Philologos had been one of the best of them, but he was still a baron’s son.

“So.”

“It would please His Majesty for you to take quarters with the Guard again for the time being, until your next assignment is determined.”

“He doesn’t want a report on my previous assignment?” Costis asked.

He glanced at Eugenides, who was listening to a minister drone on about the latest news from the Eddisian border. The king was draped over the throne like always, one hand propping up his chin as he stared blankly at the wall. It was possible he was ignoring the proceedings entirely. If Costis were in his place, he thought with a pang, his mind would be concerned only with his wife. But Costis was not a king, and he had long since learned it was foolish to assume that anything happened without Eugenides noticing it and filing it away for later use.

“Evidently not,” Philologos shrugged, and he melted back through the crowd to stand behind the king.

“There are plenty of rooms available,” Meliton told Costis. “The Guard hasn’t been halved yet, but Their Majesties paid out some veterans early, and released a few more who had professions lined up elsewhere.”

Costis didn’t turn away just yet. He didn’t know what he was waiting for, until Eugenides’ eyes slid away from the wall and made contact with his. His expression was bland. He looked from Costis to the door behind him, and then back to the prattling minister, and Costis released his breath. He had been dismissed.

“Fine,” he said, and he turned away as Meliton began to escort him back through the palace.

He wondered which rooms Kamet was staying in.

***

Costis ended up in a room more or less identical to his old one. He had toyed with the idea of trying to find Aris, but he couldn’t do that without running into dozens of other guards, and he wasn’t in the mood to talk to almost-strangers. He took off his sandals and his belt, and slept.

A messenger woke him just a few hours later, a boy dressed in the clothes of the palace servants.

“What is it?” he asked groggily. The mattress was hardly luxurious, but he found it much more comfortable than the ship’s cot or the hard, rocky ground.

“I couldn’t say, sir,” the boy said nervously. “But you must come.”

Costis frowned.

“Who sent you?”

“In the palace,” the boy said. “It was… the order came from the king’s chambers.”

“From the king?”

“Please sir, I don’t know.”

“If it’s the king, I need to wash and dress,” Costis protested. If it was a true emergency, he probably needn’t bother, but if not, he wouldn’t put it past the king to indulge in a round of ‘mock Costis for every smudge of dirt on his person,’ just for old time’s sake.

“No, sir, they said you won’t need to, they just ask that you come quickly.”

“They?”

“The king’s attendants.”

“Fine,” he relented.

He swapped his dirty tunic for a clean one, though, before he followed the boy out of the Guard’s quarters and through the palace. He wasn’t sure where they were going, at first; certainly they weren’t heading in the direction of either the queen’s chambers or the king’s private room. Costis didn’t understand until the boy waved at a nearby window and disappeared.

The king’s attendants were all clustered around the window. Costis looked around and didn’t see the king. He looked at the window again.

“No.”

“Costis—”

“Shut up, Hilarion. It’s been more than a _year_ and you can’t get him off the roof yourselves? It doesn’t even matter. He’s _fine_ up there.”

“Not with a wineskin in his hand,” Hilarion said, and by the firmness and exasperation in his voice, Costis could tell this had become a well-established rule among the attendants. He wondered how often they needed to remind each other of it.

“How does this palace function without me?” he demanded.

“He gave Sounis a gun while you were gone,” one of the other attendants said cheerfully. “And Sounis shot a Mede ambassador with it.”

Costis stared.

“Did he _tell_ Sounis to do that?”

The attendant gave an elaborate shrug. Costis sighed and looked at the window. He looked back at the pleading attendants, and sighed again, and thought that it was a good thing he hadn’t yet been reinstated in the Guard. This was not an errand he would like to do in a breastplate.

He climbed up on the window sill and stood, poking his head out cautiously. The roof was tilted at an angle that made it impossible to see anyone above, except for the tip of the king’s boot dangling over the edge. The gold dust gleamed in the light of the setting sun.

“Your Majesty,” he called wearily. “Please come down.”

“No.”

“It’s Costis.”

“Really? I never would have guessed.”

“Your Majesty,” he repeated, trying to sound as pitiable as possible. “I am very tired from the very long trip I took on your behalf, and I would like to go to bed, and your attendants won’t let me unless I get the wine from you, at least.”

“So come get the wine.”

Costis sighed again. He reached up to grab the edge of the roof and tugged at the tiles. They seemed firm—and Eugenides had climbed up without issue—but he was wary. The king was smaller, lighter, and had much more practice at climbing up buildings.He glanced down at the palace grounds, which seemed very far away, and thought about going back to bed anyway. Then he looked up at the toe of the little black boot, sticking out against the sky. _You will never die of a fall unless the god himself drops you_ , the king had promised. Costis thought of the well.

He corrected his grip on the roof and pulled himself up, feed scrabbling against the wall for purchase. It was a graceless maneuver, but he was on the roof. Eugenides gave him a little half-grin and held out the wineskin. It was full.

“You knew they would come get me.”

“I would very much like everyone to think that stealing Kamet was an act of spite, and grilling you for a report in the middle of my throne room would give the game away. Have some wine.”

“Your Majesty…” Costis looked at the edge.

“Don’t be rude, Costis.” The king snatched it back and took a large gulp. Costis took a tentative sip. It wasn’t the same vintage as the one the king had brought to his room, a lifetime ago, but it was just as sweet and delicious. Unthinking, he took another sip.

“I fell down a dry well in Zaboar.”

“Did you die?”

“No.”

“You should steal a pair of earrings for Eugenides’s altar,” the king advised him. “That’s what I usually do. There’s a small one, now, next to the Temple of Hephestia. Half the court leaves offerings at it, but most of them are idiots and I doubt the god pays them any mind. A nice pair of earrings should keep you in his favor. Speaking of which.”

He held out his hand, and Costis stared at him for a moment in bewilderment.

“Oh.”

Costis reached up to take off his earring, with its black stone seal. He hadn’t needed to put it back on, once the trading house in Sukir had verified it, but he had been worried it would fall out of his pocket or be filched by dishonest sailors. It took more effort than he expected to actually drop it into the king’s palm; his fingers didn’t want to let it go.

The king put the seal in his pocket and turned back to examine Costis with sharp eyes.

“You’ve gotten thinner.”

“We lost all our coin,” Costis admitted, running a hand over one side of his face. He was suddenly very tired, despite his nap, and he stretched out his legs in a vain attempt to work the stiffness out of his muscles. “Twice. I can’t tell you how many desert rats I’ve eaten over the course of this adventure, My King.”

“Well, don’t expect compensation if you’re going to lose everything I give you,” Eugenides frowned. “When you say lost, do you mean _lost_ , or do you mean the hard-won contents of my treasury are now in the hands of some clever thief or sympathetic Mede beggar?”

“Lost,” Costis said firmly. Godekker didn’t count, he told himself, because the money he had given Godekker had come from the knife they had stolen from the slavers. And in any case, that was _after_ they had eaten all the caggi. “First the rierboat caught fire, and Kamet can’t swim, and in the confusion my purse washed away The second time, we were about to be captured by slavers. Kamet thought it would be less dangerous to pass as two escaped slaves, instead of one slave and a foreign soldier. We hid my armor and the coin under some rocks, but didn’t have a chance to go back for it.”

“That is not lost,” Eugenides pointed out. “That is _left_.”

Costis shrugged.

“Never mind. Drink.” Costis took another swallow of the wine. “Now, from the beginning. Tell me everything.”

The dusk continued to darken as Costis told the king about his arrival in Ianna-Ir. He started to give a description of the city and the palace, but Eugenides waved a hand and said “Kamet can tell me all that. I need to know what happened with you.” So Costis focused instead on the details of the Attolian delegation that Kamet wouldn’t know, how they had been greeted, who had visited them, the bits of information he had gleaned from the servants, slaves, and guards. All the Attolians had been spied upon, of course, and followed, and snickered at, but the Medes didn’t seem to think that any of them posed a real threat to the Empire. Especially not one quiet, stupid guard.

He began to talk about meeting Kamet, and then he paused and frowned at Eugenides.

“You didn’t tell me you were going to lie to Kamet. You didn’t tell me he thought Nahusheresh was dead.”

“I didn’t,” the king agreed guiltlessly. “You wouldn’t have done it.”

“My King, I took an oath,” Costis pressed. “Two or three. I would have done it.”

“Costis, you underestimate sailors’ love for gossip. At least three of them heard you express an interest in committing treason on the _Dolphin_ , and you being my favorite guard, word spread rather quickly. I believe your exact words were _I would have let you go_.”

Costis flushed.

“I—I meant—I didn’t—” He bit his lip. “If he had killed Nahusheresh… if Nahusheresh had been killed the day we left the capital, you couldn’t have used Kamet for—for whatever it is you have planned. You would have been forced to hand him over to the Medes or give them a justification for an invasion we are not prepared to withstand. You would have given him up.” He squared his chin and looked Eugenides in the eye. “It wasn’t a matter of betraying Attolia. It was about whether Kamet lived or died, and yes, I would have let him go. But that was before I knew it was a lie.”

“Well-reasoned,” the king approved. “But still treason, and a shocking lack of faith in your sovereign. Costis, I am hurt.” He rested his hook on his breast.

“I am deeply sorry, My King.”

“No matter.” Eugenides lay back down on the roof, his head pillowed on his forearm, and closed his eyes. “You couldn’t have lied to him for so long. You’re a wretched liar. Continue.”

Costis continued.

He talked about finding Kamet at the docks, and lying low until dark, and the trip up the river, and losing their purse the first time. The inn and the innkeeper’s suspicions, the caravan and the Namreen. Occasionally Eugenides made a quip at Costis’s expense, but on the whole he was quiet. Costis told him about the lion and their foolishness at Koadester.

“Did he tell you any of the old stories?” the king interrupted. “Immakuk and Ennikar?”

Costis was fervently grateful that Eugenides still had his eyes closed, because he had no doubt that his entire face was flushed darker than the flaming red sky above them. He had forgotten that the errant kitchen boy was the first one to hear Kamet recite the poem in demotic.

“Yes,” he said shortly. The king cracked one eye open, and Costis avoided his gaze. He looked up at the dark clouds.

“They’re very good, aren’t they?”

“He said you weren’t impressed.”

The king flashed a wicked grin.

“He does so like to be impressive, doesn’t he? Not that I know what _that’s_ like.” He paused. “This wine merchant…”

“I never saw him,” Costis said haltingly. “But—there was another stranger, later on, that I thought I recognized.”

“Interesting, that.”

He waved his hand imperiously, and Costis continued his retelling. Eugenides’s attention seemed to be wandering as the minutes passed by. His interruptions became more frequent, and more than once he asked Costis to repeat something he’d already mentioned. He seemed to be particularly intent on understanding the timeline, asking again how much time Costis had spent in the well, how long he had slept when he was sick, how long it had taken to confirm the seal, and if he knew what Kamet had been doing on all those occasions.

His story petered out when he reached Attolia, and for a while they were both silent.

“Thank you, Costis,” the king said. His voice was more sincere than usual, and Costis’s heart warmed. “I know this is not the kind of work you enjoy, but if I sent someone who liked this kind of assignment, Kamet would be halfway to Brael right now. Or dead.”

“And it was never just a matter of getting him away from Nahuseresh, was it? There is something you want from him,” Costis said shrewdly.

“Yes.”

“But you won’t tell me what it is.”

“Of course I’ll tell you. I want the Mede navy.”

“You think Kamet has the Mede navy?”

“I don’t know. I’ll find out later tonight.”

“And after that?”

“I don’t know. I suppose either he’ll stay, or he’ll be halfway to Brael by this time next month.”

“Or—” Costis said, but he couldn’t force the word _dead_ out of his throat. Eugenides fixed him with a serious gaze.

“I will do my very best to prevent that particular outcome.” Costis nodded, and they were quiet again. “How long has it been since you’ve visited your family, Costis?”

“Your Majesty?” he said, caught off guard, and Eugenides raised an eyebrow. “I haven’t been home since I joined the Guard.”

“You’re overdue, then.” The king stood and stretched his arms over his head. “I’ve ordered the stable to have a horse prepared for you, halfway through the morning watch, with supplies and your backpay. Go home. See your family. On the last day of the next month, I’ll expect you back and you can be reattached to the Guard.” He dropped his arms. “Or.”

“Or?”

“If I might make a suggestion… on the last day of the next month, at noon, there is a ship leaving from the docks here in the city. It’s called the _Arrow_. If you choose to get on it, instead of returning to the Guard, I promise not to hunt you down with swords and guns and dogs. You may continue to draw a salary from the crown, even, although it won’t be extravagant.”

“Why?” Costis asked in a puzzled voice. “Where is the ship going?”

“Roa.”

“And what is in Roa?”

“Goodness, I don’t know.” Eugenides feigned innocence. “It’s possible there will be interesting things to see and do there, in the next few months, but I have no more power to see the future than the next man. The oracle might tell you, if you asked, but I doubt it.”

Costis doubted that the king would tell him, either, not in this kind of mood.

“I will consider it, Your Majesty.”

“It is only a suggestion.”

“Is there a reason you’d like me out of the city first thing in the morning?” Costis asked, changing the subject. At the very least, he didn’t have to give his king the satisfaction of trying to wheedle information out of him.

“Convenience of travel,” he said with a shrug. “Do you have reason to dawdle?”

“My sister was due to be married last fall, Your Majesty. I’d like to get her a wedding present, and there are much better markets here than back home.”

“Of course, take your time. Here.”

He pulled a slim silver coin out of his coat sleeve and flipped it at Costis, who caught it on instinct with a frown.

“I can’t buy a gift with gifted money.”

The king laughed at him.

“Costis, where do you think your salary comes from? Think of that as payment for the caggi, then, and spend something else on your sister. Give your family my regards, assuming they’re not among those subjects still hoping I fall off the palace roof, and may your sister’s hearth always be well-tended.”

Costis got to his feet and bowed, pocketing the coin.

“Thank you, My King.”

Eugenides gave him a small smile, but there was an unfamiliar touch of wistfulness on his face. _May your hearth be well-tended_ was the traditional Eddisian wedding blessing, Costis knew. He had heard it enough on the king’s own wedding day, although mostly when the guards turned it into a joke. _Yes, may his hearthfire grow so high it smokes him out of the palace for good…_ He wondered if the king was thinking of his wedding day, too.

He wondered if the king was thinking of his wife, and his child, and Costis suddenly felt cold. The sun had finally sunk all the way below the horizon.

The king was walking towards the edge of the roof, ready to go back inside, and Costis knew he would need to say something now, unless he wanted the attendants to overhear. But what could he possibly say? Costis had never been married or had a child, and he had been so young when he lost his mother that he could barely remember her. He couldn’t say anything that would actually help. All he had to offer was his own grief.

And he _did_ feel grief, for all that he hadn’t even known the queen was pregnant until the day before. Everyone knew an heir would eventually be forthcoming, and in the back of his mind, Costis had cherished a secret hope that he would be returned to court and the king’s favor by the time one was born. It would be beyond presumption to assume he would be some sort of protector for the royal heir—but… well, who else would? He had been the one trusted with watching over the king in his sickroom, so why not the heir in his nursery? Chaperoning lessons would be downright easy, if the heir had an ounce of his mother’s self-control to combat his father’s contrariness. And there would be a certain poetic irony in Costis teaching the next king his first exercise in prime.

He had no words to express this, and in any case they felt more arrogant than comforting. The king crouched down and rested his hand on the edge of the roof.

“My King—” Eugenides looked at him, and Costis hesitated and blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “May the gods bring you comfort.”

They were the traditional words, trite but earnest. The king’s lips twitched.

“Costis, you of all people know I prefer to _avoid_ attracting their particular attention.”

“I know,” Costis fumbled. “I’m sorry—I only meant—I _am_ sorry.”

He knew he was blushing, and he felt like a fool for bringing it up. An old conversation was playing over and over in his head.

_We could both be assassinated, and you could be captain to my heir. Don’t give up hope just because chances are slim…_

_For the assassination or the heir, Your Majesty?_

I didn’t mean it, he wanted to say over and over again, even though the king knew he hadn’t meant it, and that it didn’t matter in the end. So Costis left it at that, at _I am sorry_ , and trusted the candor in his voice to make up for it. He was a fool, but no flatterer and no liar.

The king smiled. It was a sad smile, and for a moment Costis saw the deep pools of grief in his eyes, dark and endless. Just as quickly they were shuttered, a well cover pulled over the top. Eugenides straightened touched his hand to Costis’s cheek.

“Dear Costis,” he said in a fond voice, and the guard resisted the urge to fall to his knees and bow and repeat every oath of loyalty he’d ever sworn. Then Eugenides tilted his head, and the sincerity faded from his voice and his expression, replaced with the usual mockery. “If you come back to this palace at the end of next month, you will truly be the greatest idiot from here to Letnos.”

Costis blinked.

“Yes, My King.”

“Give me back my wine.” He looped the strap of the wineskin around his wrist—it was still mostly full—and crouched by the edge of the roof again. “Don’t fall,” he warned.

And with that, he dropped into the night. Costis stayed for another moment, looking up at the familiar stars, and then followed.

***

Costis went back to the yard and found Aris, along with some of the other squad leaders. They went to a wine shop in the city and spent several hours there, drinking and talking. They all wanted to know about Kamet, who evidently had made quite an impression on the court, but Costis was reluctant. He wanted to brag about Kamet’s cleverness in getting them aboard the _Anet’s Dream_ and out of Koadester and in fooling the slavers. He wanted to share his amusement at the barely-veiled contempt whenever Costis told him about the king—a far cry from the shocked awe that had led him to call Eugenides annux. He wanted to tell—well, not all of them, but Aris, at least, about the story of Immakuk and Ennikar that Kamet has given to him with such eagerness.

But he didn’t know how to talk about those moments when his voice was full of Kamet’s caustic words— _one of us is an idiot, and I don’t think it’s me_ —and the long, cold silence that followed them. He distracted the guards by talking about the more spectacular elements of the journey, and by insulting the Mede. They were content with that.

“Costis!”

He was halfway to the stables the next morning when he looked over his shoulder to find Aris jogging towards him, sloppily dressed and yawning.

“You didn’t have to get up,” he protested, but Aris shrugged.

“Forget it. Here.” He fell into step beside Costis and held up a ring. It was copper, carved with three arrows, and Costis accepted it with a lump in his throat. “I saw last night you’d lost yours.”

“I had to pawn it in Sherguz. Thanks, Aris.”

“It’s my old one.” Aris shrugged again, blasé as always in the face of Costis’s unnecessary earnestness. “It’ll turn your finger green. Besides, haven’t you gone heathen on us, anyway?” he teased.

“Only halfway,” Costis said dryly. “The old gods for the king, and the new ones for the queen.”

“Yes, I’ve heard you’ve had a lot of conflicting loyalties lately, famous honor aside. Speaking of which…” Aris looked at him out of the corner of his eyes. “Your friend isn’t coming to see you off with me?”

“No.” The word felt too short, and Costis tried to lighten his tone. “I mean— I’m sure he has other things to do.” He remembered the hour and hastily added, “In general, I mean, in the palace. Now that we’re here, he needn’t have as much to do with me. It was only when it was just the two of us that…”

He trailed into silence. Aris, bless him, didn’t say anything, and Costis realized that his pitiful attempts to change the topic the night before had not fooled his friend.

They reached the stables, and a towheaded boy leaning against the wall sood straighter.

“One of you is Costis Ostinedes?” he asked around a yawn. Costis nodded, letting it go. “Just a minute.”

The lad disappeared.

“I think he hates me, Aris,” Costis said bleakly.

“Because you stole him?”

“Because I stole him based on a _lie_. I knew he didn’t like Attolia. He thinks it’s a backwater country and that we’re all barbarians. But I thought he wanted freedom enough to give it a chance. Now it turns out he only left because he was afraid.” He thought of the desert, and Kamet shaking in his arms, his voice high and raspy and hysterical. “They’re _evil_ , Aris,” he said with a viciousness that surprised him. “The way they treat their slaves. I don’t blame him for being afraid, and I don’t blame him for hating me when he realized it was a trick.”

“The king’s trick, not yours,” Aris pointed out. “And he deceived you in return, didn’t he?”

“Does it matter?” Costis asked.

Behind him came the heavy _clip clop_ of the horse’s hooves, and he turned. The stable boy was leading a grey mare laden with full saddlebags. He dropped the reigns in Costis’s hands and retreated, probably to find his breakfast or a bale of hay to nap on. Costis led the horse out into the yard and lingered there for a while. He had missed talking to Aris. And besides, it would be another half-hour before most of the market stalls began to display their wares. In the city, only the Guard, the servants, and the bakers were up at this hour.

“He tried to take the blame,” Aris said. “Half the court heard him tell the king it was his fault and that he had lied to you.”

“Yes…” That was before he knew Nahuseresh was alive, Costis thought to point out, but it was nice to cling to optimism for a second.

“It will work itself out,” Aris said confidently. “You’ll be gone long enough to let his temper cool, if it needs to be cooled. And remember, Costis—you are very stupid, and care much more about honor and ethics and lying than any man ought to. Us lesser mortals don’t worry about that, so much. We care more about our egos, and we like it when people like us.” He had been looking over the horse, making sure the straps of the saddle were pulled tight and patting the mare’s flank, but suddenly he looked up at Costis with sharp eyes. “And you like him very much.”

Costis’s blushing silence was enough answer. He looked at the horse and patted her neck.

“I should be going.”

“Yes.” Aris clapped him on the shoulder. “Give my congratulations to your sister and my regards to your honored father.”

“I will.”

“And write to me every once in a while, won’t you? I don’t trust the king to let you back without sending you on some other blasted mission first, and it would be nice to know you aren’t dead.”

“He did suggest I might be going to Roa,” Costis remembered with a frown. “But he wouldn’t say why.”

“Well, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Until then, safe journey, my friend.”

“Thanks, Aris.” They clasped forearms. “I missed you while I was gone,” Costis confessed. “I am sorry I couldn’t stay longer—but I will write more this time. I promise.”

He had not kept up a rigorous correspondence while in Mede; the thought of a foreign government reading all of his mail had stymied his pen, even though he knew, logically, that all of the mail in the Attolian court was probably read by Relius’s legions of spies. That was different. As he swung into the saddle, he wondered, with amusement, if the other delegates of the Attolian embassy had felt the same, and if that had contributed to their reputation for illiteracy.

After one last wave to Aris, Costis rode out of the palace grounds. He went down to the docks, where a discerning buyer could find a good bargain in the shadow of the trading ships without venturing to the expensive shops along the market row. The streets were crowded with sailors and merchants, so he dismounted and led the horse by the reins. He bought a raisin roll and two sweet oranges from a baker, and ate them leaning against a wall, watching the rising sun sparkle on the harbor and the merchants setting out their wares.

The saddlebags were well-stocked, and the only things Costis really needed to buy was a wedding gift for Thalia and Achaeus, which he deliberated over for some time. It had been several months since their wedding, so they surely had all the essentials by now, but he couldn’t think of a luxury that would be easy to transport by horseback. He finally settled on matching cloaks made of a soft emerald-green fabric embroidered with golden vines and little white birds, and matching bronze fibula pins. He was careful to pay for them with money from the purse in his saddlebags, although privately Costis had to admit that he wouldn’t have purchased such fine cloth without the security of the king’s silver in his pocket. At the last moment, he remembered the king’s advice and purchased a bracelet for the other Eugenides, too. It was simple brass, cheap, but it was embossed with a water motif, and he thought thatif the god was anything like the king, he would appreciate the humor.

He rode the horse up to the acropolis, home of the massive temple to Hephestia and a smaller altar to her half-brother. There were a number of altars to the old gods outside the main temple, clustered around their queen. Each had a table for offerings, on which sat a two-foot replica of the temple. Eugenies’s was the most well-visited, by far. The table was crammed with offerings: coins, wilted flowers, lumps of incense-scented ash. Costis wondered how many had actually left their offerings out of piety, and how many had simply hoped that they were being watched by someone who counted, someone who might pass on to the king names of those honoring his patron. There was no one around now.

Costis dropped the mare’s reins and approached the altar, turning the bracelet over in his hands. He rubbed his thumb against the bumps of the waves, remembering the swoop of terror in his gut when he fell over the lip of the well, and his dazed amazement when he realized that he was alive and uninjured. He closed his eyes.

It had been dark in the well, even when the sun was high, and how much more so when the night came again. He had pressed himself against the stone walls and tried to quell his panic. The king had promised he wouldn’t die of a fall, hadn’t he? And if one fell, and the fall caused him to die of thirst, didn’t that count as dying of a fall? He didn’t think he had done anything to earn the ire of Eugenides, not so soon after he had sworn an oath to him.

The afternoon sun had turned the sky golden when he finally remembered another token decorated with waves, and the quiet words of the priest at Ne Malia. _Remember Immakuk_. Ennikar had been trapped in the underworld, too, but his friend had not left him there. Immakuk had returned and rescued him. Kamet would come back, he repeated again and again, an incantation, an invocation to keep panic and madness at bay. Darkness fell, the moon rose, and Kamet returned.

Costis opened his eyes and fixed them on the carving of the god’s name on the pediment.

“Thank you,” he said simply. “I know I am a poor thief, but thank you for keeping a close eye.” He bowed and placed the bracelet on the offering table. He was about to step back when, on impulse, took the king’s silver out of his pocket and placed it in the center of the bracelet. There were one or two pairs of earrings on the altar, but he wasn’t sure if the king had time to pay much devotion to his god. And in any case, one could never be too careful.

Then, just as the streets below were truly beginning to bustle with activity, Costis set off for home.


	2. Chapter 2

The three-day journey back to the Gede Valley was entirely unremarkable. Costis had plenty of food, water, and money. His horse was light-footed, and although he set a leisurely pace so that he would not have to change mounts, they still made good time as they headed north. He slept in comfortable beds at every inn, and none of the other travelers, even the most suspicious-looking of the lot, dared to cross a man wearing the cloak of the King’s Guard over his civilian dress.

Even so, Costis couldn’t shake his feeling of discomfort. People kept staring at him, especially as he traveled further from the capital, to places where palace guards were a less common sight. He had spent much of the last year avoiding people’s notice, and even friendly looks sparked a moment of worry. For the first time, he really appreciated how _disconcerting_ it must have been for the Thief of Eddis to become the center of the Attolian court.

He realized, too, that he had fallen into the habit of tilting his head when he was uncomfortable, just so he could feel the king’s seal tap the side of his neck. Every time he had worried that his Mede accent was no good, or that he was ill-suited for sly work, or that their careful plan had gone hopelessly awry, he had touched the seal and remembered that he was serving the king. It made him stand straighter. But he had surrendered the seal, and Costis found himself missing its familiar weight. He thought of Kamet’s strange reluctance to relinquish his chain, and wondered if the former slave had felt the same way he did now.

It was hardly the same thing, he thought firmly, snapping the reins to urge the grey mare into a trot. No one had forced Costis to take the oath of the Queen’s Guard, and he had been given the chance to separate himself after he punched the king. He was honored to serve them, for life if necessary.

 _And that is different from being a slave in what way?_ the king’s petulant voice asked in his ear.

 _I think the differences lies in choice_ , Phresine responded softly. Costis, for his part, agreed with her. He reached up to rub at his earlobe, and then snapped the reins again. The horse seemed glad to pick up the pace, and they both enjoyed the tickle of the wind in their hair.

***

Costis spent the third night in an inn just a few miles south of the Gede Valley, and delayed setting out the next morning. It was the planting season, and he didn’t want to arrive too early and disrupt the family’s work for the entire day. It was just past noon when he crested the large, flat-topped hill that offered the best view of the northern valley, and he stopped and stared down at it with a full heart.

The eastern mountains that fringed Attolia’s coastline obstructed the Seperchia’s path to the sea. In the valley below, the mighty river split into branches, creating a fertile delta dotted with dams. Green summer corn covered the flatlands, and the hills were awash with olive groves. From his vantage point, Costis could easily see Pomea, the small city that oversaw all the local trade routes. Ortia was a much smaller village, home to only a handful of notable families, and it was mostly hidden by the trees. His father’s house wasn’t visible from the ridge, but that didn’t matter. Costis knew the way.

He coaxed the mare with his heels and they headed down into the valley. He took a roundabout route to avoid the main house, and within an hour and a half he was home.

The main house was fashioned much like the richer villas of Attolia and Sounis, centered around an open courtyard, but the house Costis and his family occupied was much more modest. It was two storied, made of wood and plaster with a thatched roof. On the second floor there were two small bedrooms and a study. On the first was a parlor, the kitchen, and a larger bedroom. Abutting the back was a chicken coop and a vegetable and herb garden, and a small grove of pear trees, just large enough to keep them and their friends well-supplied with pear tarts and cakes beginning in late summer.

As he approached, a flushed, sweaty face appeared at the kitchen window. She stared at him for a moment, flabbergasted, and then disappeared, and Costis heard a bang as the back door was flung open.

“Baba! It’s Costis!”

He chuckled to himself as he dismounted. His feet had barely touched the ground when the front door, too, was flung open, bouncing off the wall. His sister stood in the doorway, wearing a stained apron, with her dark blonde hair escaping from the knot at her neck and sticking to her face.

“You’re going to break the doors if you keep doing that,” he chastised. He peered down his nose at her, an imitation of their father he had perfected as a child.

“Oh, _Costis_!”

Thalia walked, quickly but not quickly enough to spook the horse, and threw her arms around him. Costis wrapped his arms around his sister’s waist and lifted her off the ground for a moment, squeezing her tight. Thalia was just two years younger than Costis, and they were the only set of siblings he knew who had never really hated each other. When they were living in the main house, they had stood united against their cousins. Costis had made sure that Thalia was never left behind during games, and in turn, Thalia had never hesitated to use her high, loud voice to call out any injustice she saw. When they moved into the smaller house, they had learned how to cook and clean and garden together, taking pressure off their father as he worked to make the house habitable.

The only time they had really fought was when Costis had declared that Teleus, who was conducting his annual tour of the country looking for new recruits for the Guard, had agreed to accept Costis even though he was a year below the age limit. Thalia had known of his ambition, but losing him a year early was too much. She had snapped at him for a week, slammed doors, thrown herself on her bed in a rage. The morning he was to leave, she had raced out of the house and flung herself into his arms, just like this.

“Welcome home,” she mumbled against his chest.

“Thank you,” Costis said, surprised by the hoarseness in his own voice.

She pushed him away and held him by the shoulders as she looked him over with a critical eye.

“Gods, Costis, you’ve grown.”

“Not by much,” he protested. Although, now that she mentioned it, Thalia did look smaller than he remembered. “I think you’ve grown shorter.”

“None of that,” Thalia said, laughing. “Come—are you hungry? Thirsty? Do you want a bath? I’ve called Baba, but he was working—”

“I’m here.”

Costis and Thalia turned to find their father filling the doorway. Costis’s heart leapt. He squared his shoulders and lifted his chin. He had dressed with extra care that morning; he was wearing his guard’s cape, his best tunic, and newly-polished sandals, although there was an inescapable layer of dust over it all. After the shame of the past year, he wanted to assure his father that he was still an honorable member of the Guard.

“Sir—” he began, stepping forward to bow, and in the same moment his father stepped forward and crushed him into a tight embrace.

His first thought was that his sister was right—Costis had gotten taller. Their father was a bear of a man, and when Costis had left for the guard, he had barely grazed his father’s whiskered chin. Now, if he wasn’t exactly his father’s height, he was very near it. That startled him. His father smelled the same, though, like sweat and dirt and sun and green, growing things. Costis buried his head in his shoulder and felt years’ worth of unacknowledged homesickness dissipate.

It felt like ages later when his father finally let go, although he, too, held Costis by the shoulders and looked him up and down.

“Look at this,” he said in his quiet, measured voice. “First my daughter is a woman, and now my son is a man. Gods, the years go by.”

“I believe it was the other way around, Baba,” Costis smiled.

“Ah, but she was here and you were there. It’s different. How was the journey?”

“Very easy.”

“Good,” his father said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Come in, come rest. Go find your husband,” he said to Thalia. “Let him know Costis is home and that he should come home early for dinner.”

Thalia dipped her head and walked in the direction of the main house. Costis tied up the horse, slinging the saddlebags over his shoulder, and together he and his father walked into the house. There was a pot of vegetables boiling on the stove and some kind of cake in the oven.

“Would you like anything?” his father asked. “Wine? Water? Lunch?”

“Thank you, sir, I ate on the road.”

“All right. A messenger came a few days ago—your room is ready. You can rest before we eat. It will be just us, but tomorrow your uncle and aunt will expect you for dinner,” he warned. Costis suppressed the urge to groan; he had been expecting that.

Costis put his bags down in his room upstairs. It was a small room, sparsely decorated, and much neater than it had been when he lived there. He fell back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling, where he had tacked up a clumsy charcoal sketch of an Attolian soldier to cover up a crack in the plaster. He had forgotten it was there, but the sight made him smile.

He lay down for only a little while, then washed himself at the pump outside and attempted to help his father repair the chicken coop. When he was rebuffed, he went around to the side of the house and had an easier time convincing Thalia to let him help with the laundry. She scrubbed the clothes with soap in a large tub of river water, and Costis wrung them out and hung them on the line. He whistled in tune with his sister’s singing, and the time went quickly.

Just before sundown, Achaeus returned home. Costis had known his sister’s husband since they were children; he was the son of one of the okloi stewards on the main farm. He was a thoughtful, sensible young man, an inch or two taller than Thalia, and he seemed a touch embarrassed at meeting Costis as a brother-in-law rather than a friend. He flushed red when Costis offered his congratulations, and then beamed.

They retired to the parlor for dinner—a rich country dish, lentil and sausage soup, with fresh bread, and orange cake for dessert. It was simple food by the capital standards, but miles better than the bland porridge fed to the guards, and infinitely preferable to caggi.

Costis managed to start the conversation by asking for details about the wedding, which lent itself easily to more questions about the farm, the village, and their neighbors. It was only when the conversation turned to the family that Thalia trailed off into silence, and Costis sighed. He had known this was coming.

“Tell me, really—has it been bad?”

Thalia and Achaeus looked at the elder Ormentides, who gave an eloquent shrug of his shoulders.

“It has and it hasn’t,” he said. “In truth, no one knows what to think. First you attacked the king, then you saved his life, you were his favorite and then you were banished. This far from the city, who can really know?”

“Did they—did my uncle ever bring up disinheritance?”

“There wasn’t time for that,” his father said calmly. If Costis had been disinherited when he punched the king, the family might have been allowed to keep the farm after his execution—but even then, there was no real guarantee. “We learned of your act and—well, the king’s pardon, I suppose you would call it—in the same message. Although we did wonder…”

“You never really explained it, Costis,” Thalia pointed out.

“I know.” Costis sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. His wine cup was empty, and he reached for the jug to refill it. “It’s all very difficult to explain, especially in a letter. The _king_ is difficult to explain. How do they think of him, out here?” he asked, suddenly curious. His father shrugged.

“He is a foreigner. And very young.”

“They say, now, that he loves the queen,” Achaeus added.

“Yes.”

“Most families around here like him better for that. And they say, too, that he helped bring about the fall of Erondites and the annexation of Sounis. Most think the queen or someone in Eddis did most of the work behind the scenes, but we know that none of it could happen without a foreign king on the throne, so most no longer hate him. A puppet king devoted to the queen suits our purpose.”

 _Puppet king_. That was funny. Costis snorted, and didn’t miss the fact that the other three all exchanged glances.

“What do _you_ think, Costis?” Thalia said impatiently.

“I think… that he enjoys taunting me, and half the time he speaks, I remember why I hit him in the first place,” Costis said with a wry grin. He thought for a moment, and his voice was halting. “But people say similar things, and worse, about the queen. Those of us who are loyal to her know that she is good for Attolia, no matter how ruthless she may appear. The king is the same, except his mask is different. He’s cleverer and kinder than most people give him credit for, and he loves the queen and wants what is best for her country. And he’s no one’s puppet,” he added. “I once heard the Eddisian ambassador say that he had never seen the king driven to do anything and almost never led, either. I think all of us in the palace underestimated him in that way, in the beginning, and we came out looking like fools.”

His family listened, riveted to every word. Achaeus nodded with a thoughtful expression.

“We heard that he is halving the Guard,” Thalia said.

“Yes,” Costis nodded. He related the entire story of how the decision came to be—of the wager made between the king and the queen, his manipulation of Costis, Costis’s demand that the king spar with him, the duel with Laecdomon, and the conversation in the bath. He skated over much of his time as a lieutenant, but the rest had been witnessed by enough people that he knew he could share it without guilt.

“He has a point,” his father rumbled, rubbing at his dark brown beard. “The current generation of the Guard remembers all that the queen has done, but in time, some will forget. And it is difficult to judge the loyalty of a large group.”

“Have you been released?” Thalia asked bluntly.

“No,” Costis said, startled.

“You were away from the palace, these past few months, and we couldn’t write letters to you.”

“That’s true,” he said slowly. He had been detached from the Guard as soon as he arrived at the Mede palace, so that when he got the signal to steal Kamet, his absence would not be so immediately noticeable. And he remembered, suddenly, that the king might be sending him to Roa. “I… don’t know. I haven’t been dismissed from the king’s service, at least. The morning we sparred, he knew that he would be halving the Guard soon, and he already knew that he was sending me on the errand I just returned from. He asked me to reaffirm my oath, that morning. But I don’t know if my service will be as a guard or… something else.”

“And you don’t mind?” Thalia asked, frowning. She knew how badly Costis had wanted to join the Guard when they were children, and how much he loved it. He had more or less told her, when she wrote of her engagement, that he would relinquish his inheritance of the house and the land to her and Achaeus, because he planned on serving his full twenty years, and would retire with land of his own. He had not chosen his path because of the compensation—but a man who made such plans did not relinquish them easily. “If he asks you to be a spy or— or a thief, instead of a guard, you will do it?”

At that, Costis couldn’t help but laugh.

“He sent me across the sea,” he said, “to steal the right hand of the brother of the Medes’ next emperor.”

***

Costis gave a modified version of his tale, less detailed than the one he had given to the other guards, which had itself been shorter than the one he told the king. By the time he finished, night had fallen. They lit a lamp and ate the orange cake, and by unspoken agreement talked of more inconsequential things than politics. Costis spoke a little Mede and confirmed that the queen was as beautiful as everyone said. Achaeus told him about the plays that had come to the city recently. His father talked about the calves, kids, and cousins that had been born in his absence. Costis gave Thalia and Achaeus his wedding gift, and was warmly thanked. Soon after, he retreated to his childhood bedroom, and slept like the dead.

Dinner the following evening was not so enjoyable.

The Ormentides household was large. Costis had six uncles and aunts, including Linos, the head of the family, fourteen first cousins, three first cousins once removed, and six second cousins. Some of the girls in his generation had gotten married and moved out of the house while he was gone, but some of the men had brought their wives in to fill their places, and there was a new generation scampering around as well. The four eldest had been born before Costis left for the Guard, and five more had arrived since.

Generally, the relationship between Costis’s immediate and extended family was polite but strained. He knew that it was commonly believed in the main house that his father was condescending, and Costis and Thalia’s loyalty to him served as confirmation that they were the same. On top of that, three of his cousins had also had ambitions to join the Guard, and Costis knew that they resented being passed over for him. But the entire family had to work the farm together, and for its sake, animosity was expressed in whispers rather than shouts.

Dinner was served in a large dining hall. There was a head table for Linos and the other men and women of his generation, and then two long tables below, one for the women and one for the men. There was a small table, too, for the children old enough to behave themselves, although many of them squirmed throughout the night.

Costis greeted his uncle and aunt formally, and managed to find a seat between Achaeus and his cousin Dion, who could be harebrained at times but was kind at heart. The family couldn’t afford any live-in servants, but they had hired a cook, a houseboy, and two servants for the evening, and they brought out the first course and began to pour the wine.

“So, Costis,” his uncle said, clapping his hands. “Tell us about the palace.”

“It’s very large,” he said after an awkward pause, and he could have sworn he heard Thalia snicker into her wine cup across the room. “A quarter of the people in the capital live or work in the palace. Four centuries of guards serve in the palace itself, four in the outbuildings and grounds, and two at large. There is are two public entrances, one for barons and ambassadors and one for commoners, and all of the other entrances require a password. It can be very confusing; I used to get lost all the time. One of the king’s ancestors helped build it,” he added. “There are—or were, at least—blueprints in the palace library of Eddis.”

He realized the moment that he finished his sentence that mentioning Eugenides had been a mistake. His uncle smirked.

“Ah yes, the king,” he said. He took a sip of his wine.

“We hear you are quite the favorite of the king,” his wife said in a mild voice. “As well as a critic.”

There was muffled laughter from some of his male cousins, further down the table.

“I was not a supporter of the king at first, that is true,” Costis said stiffly. “I made a grievous error, and His Majesty has been kind enough to forgive me and offer the chance to atone for my crime. I hope to always prove worthy of his regard in the future.”

This was a difficult response to laugh at, but he looked around the room just in case. Most avoided his gaze. His father nodded reassuringly, and his favorite aunt, Cassandra, gave him a small smile and raised her cup. Costis turned to his dinner.

The conversation ran along similar lines for much of the evening. Some of his cousins really were curious about details of the Guard, his friends, the city, but inevitably the talk turned to politics. Half of the family seemed to believe that Costis was in the king’s confidence; the other half were contemptuous of the very idea. All wanted to know for certain, but Costis didn’t give them the satisfaction. His answers were short and blandly approving.

“Of course both the king and queen always strive to do what is best for Attolia… I believe the king is liked and respected by most of the court… I don’t stoop to such gossip. I really couldn’t say.”

He could tell some of his relatives were disappointed, not that they should have expected any different. Costis had learned as a child that here was no such thing as a secret in the Ormentides household, and he had earned his reputation for reticence by age nine. The less information he gave his family about the court now, the fewer wild rumors would be bouncing around the Valley and beyond in the coming weeks.

It had been different with his immediate family. For one thing, he knew they would worry about him if they knew nothing about the court except rumors, which would never be good. For another, he trusted that they actually wanted to _understand_ , not simply to be better-informed than their neighbors, and that if he told them the king was a good man, they would believe him.

It had been different, even, with Kamet, although the freedman had been no fan of Attolia. It hadn’t mattered, because he was smart, observant, and fundamentally kind. Costis had trusted that, when he met Eugenides, he would recognize the intelligence and the kindness that also lurked beneath the king’s public persona. He had enjoyed seeing the look on Kamet’s face when he related some of the more outrageous tales. _It will be funny_ , he had thought, _seeing how he looks when he realizes that the king is not a fool_.

There were many things he had wanted to show Kamet at court, besides the king. He had wanted to hear his observations on the royal attendants, and bring him for a meal in the guard’s mess hall, and split a honey cake with him in the kitchen, and take him to a play in the main theater just off the Sacred Way. Once or twice he had wondered, with foreboding, what taunt the king might lobby their way, but it would be worth it, he thought, to occasionally finish a long shift and find Kamet and walk with him in the gardens….

The smoke from the lamps was irritating his eyes, and Costis blinked several times in a row to clear them.

Kamet’s face, when he realized that Eugenides was the sovereign ruler of Attolia, had not been funny. His eyes had widened, and the warmth of his skin faded to an ashen pallor. And Costis did not know if he intended to stay in Attolia at all. He could be in the palace right now, telling the king where to find the Mede navy, or he could be in a caravan heading towards Brael. Costis didn’t think he would like Brael very much—it was too cold—but it was one of the Continental Powers, and very far from the Mede Empire. He might be safe there.

Suddenly the room felt unbearably close and hot, and his uncle was leaning across the table to ask another pointed question, and Costis couldn’t stand it anymore. He stood up and inclined his head.

“Excuse me, sir,” he said, and without waiting for permission he strode out of the room.

He ducked out into the courtyard. It was a poor specimen—who had time to tend an indoor garden when the farm needed attention?—but he walked around the small fountain and breathed a little easier.

Costis tilted his face towards the sky. The wind brushed against his face in a gentle caress, and tiny droplets of water sprayed from the fountain and dotted his cheeks. For the first time, he thought of Mede  and almost missed it. Not the court, the city, the Namreen, the caggi, or the lion caves. But the wide open sky of the prairie, the feeling of certainty and purpose, the quiet. Politics were the same everywhere, at home and abroad, among courtiers and families. Kamet had known how to let silence have its due. It was a rare trait, and one Costis deeply admired.

He opened his eyes to observe the moon, a slim crescent floating in the sky.

“Costis?” He turned his head to see Thalia approaching with a frown on her lips. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. Yes, of course.”

“You left… abruptly.”

“I needed some air.”

Thalia brushed some dirt off the rim of the fountain and sat down, crossing her ankles.

“You know you’re not allowed to abandon me there,” she chastised.

“I’ve been gone for long enough—I thought you would have adjusted by now.” Costis sat beside her and nudged her with his elbow. “Besides, you aren’t alone anymore. You have a _husband_ now.”

Thalia dismissed her husband with a disdainful wave.

“Achaeus is no help. He actually _likes_ Diothenes, and he gets too involved in conversation to make faces at me across the room.”

“The nerve of him.”

“I know. Are you sure everything is all right?”

“I’m fine, Thalia. Aside from liking our cousins, how is Achaeus? I know he’s a good man, but—you are happy?”

“Yes,” Thalia said. She was still frowning, and her slate-blue eyes narrowed. “Yes, so far married life suits us very well. You did the same thing last night, you know. Asked about my husband to avoid talking about yourself.”

Costis said nothing.

“It must be something that happened in the Mede Empire,” she continued thoughtfully. “You were very quiet after you punched the king, too, but that was so long ago that I have to believe even you would have gotten over it. Is there going to be another war, do you think?”

“Yes,” Costis said quietly. “Almost certainly. But the king thinks that if we can last for just a year, the Mede heir will have domestic concerns that will distract him from the peninsula. Besides, I doubt any one ruler could overcome the combined efforts of Eddis and Attolia. The queens have undying loyalty from their people and much experience in war, and the king has been planning this for a long time.”

“And Sounis?”

“I know very little about Sounis.”

When the king had told him the story of Hamiathes’ gift, he had mentioned that one of his companions on the journey had been the heir to the throne of Sounis, but Sophos had still been missing then, and Eugenides had not talked of him in detail.

“They say he is very different from his uncle.” Thalia paused. “So it is not the war that worries you.”

“Thalia…”

His sister wrapped her arm through his and leaned against his shoulder. It was a chilly night, and she was wearing a nice summery dress that was too cold for the weather. Costis put his arm around her and considered making a joke about forgetting her new cloak, but the timing didn’t seem right.

“Remember when we used to tell each other everything?” she said wistfully. “I hoped that when you came back and you would tell me everything that couldn’t go in a letter. Every little detail, no matter how small or how secret, like when we were children. But the world’s so much larger than we thought, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is,” Costis sighed.

Guilt gnawed at his stomach. _I didn’t tell you everything, not even then_ , a voice whispered in his mind. He hadn’t told her about the time when he had gone into their father’s room once, and on the anniversary of their mother’s death, and found him so drunk that his glassy eyes could barely fix on Costis when he helped him into the bed. He hadn’t told her about his first kiss, with Solon the tinsmith’s son the summer he was eleven, amongst the golden corn crop. He had told her that he wanted to join the Guard because of the honor and the adventure, but he hadn’t told her about the kernel of resentment inside of him that hated being the overlooked heir of a  younger son, that he felt choked in the provincial peace of the valley, that there had always been a part of him that wanted to win glory, inspire jealousy, and one day become captain.

He said none of this.

“The king said to tell you congratulations on your wedding,” he said after a minute. “Actually he said may your hearth always be well-tended, which is what they say at weddings in Eddis.”

“That was kind of him.”

“Yes.” Costis chuckled. “He told me this while we were sitting on the roof of the palace. He sits on the roof a lot, our king. His attendants hate it.”

“As they should,” Thalia frowned. “What if were to fall, gods forbid?”

“That is it exactly. The God of Thieves, who is also named Eugenides, keeps a close watch over his followers, and does not let a thief fall unless he has betrayed the god. The king honors the god, so he has no fear of falling. I—” He bit back the words, and then spoke slowly, staring up at the sky. “I saw him once. The God of Thieves. The king was on the roof, and he lost his balance and almost fell. I mean _really_ lost his balance, Thalia—he was waving his arms and standing on one foot and about to fall over the edge. But the god caught him, spoke to him, and pushed him back onto me, down below. I was more sure that the god was with us than I am that you’re here with me now.”

There was a long, long silence. Costis was sure his sister didn’t believe him, and he kept his eyes fixed on the moon so he wouldn’t have to see her face while she wrestled with his insanity.

“What did he say?” she finally asked in a hushed voice.

“He said ‘go to bed.’”

Thalia huffed out a surprised laugh, but she heard the seriousness in his voice and quieted again. She shivered and clung to him tighter.

“I think I would rather live here in ignorance than try to navigate your life, Costis,” she admitted.

“I don’t blame you.”

“Come on,” she said. She stood and held out her hand. “Let’s go have another cup of wine. That always makes these dinners more bearable.”

“Yes,” Costis agreed, standing up. “Let’s.”


	3. Chapter 3

The weeks passed quickly. Costis worked on the farm with his father and his cousins during the day. Evenings were his own. He visited his friends in the village—Solon was _very_ amused that Costis had plied his trade in the Mede Empire, of all places—and sometimes ventured into the city for plays and the spring festivals. Twice he went hunting in the surrounding woods, and the resulting meals were much more palatable when prepared in his sister’s cookpot instead of over a fire by the side of the road. He received a letter from Aris, and responded promptly.

After much pestering from some of his younger cousins, he finally agreed to teach them the basics of swordplay, using branches they had found on the forest floor. Naturally, they complained at how boring it was, so one morning, Costis borrowed a scarecrow and used it as a practice dummy. He released a flourish of attacks against it—not even the duelist’s moves used by the king, just a more advanced soldier’s exercise—and they all gawked at his speed and skill. Other members of the family stopped to watch, too, even men his father’s age, which was gratifying, if slightly embarrassing. Costis was one of the tallest in the family now. Farmwork required muscles, too, so he didn’t know if he could claim to be the strongest, but none of his cousins seemed inclined to challenge  him to a wrestling match.

One afternoon, he was tending to the grove of pear trees with his father, who asked about his plans to return to the capital.

“I will have to leave next week,” Costis said, carefully pruning a branch that was starting to look sickly. “The king wanted me back on the last day of the month.”

“And will you be a squad leader again? Or a lieutenant?”

“I don’t know,” Costis said with a frown. He had not told his family that his tasks in the king’s service often changed based on the likelihood that he would be assassinated. “I don’t even know if he wants me to serve in the Guard again. He told me that I should either return to the palace or take a boat to Roa.”

“What is in Roa?”

“I don’t know,” he sighed. “He wouldn’t tell me. He never tells me anything.”

“And will you go?” His father waited patiently, and when no answer came, prompted “Aristogiton will be in the capital, I assume, along with your other friends in the Guard.”

“Yes.”

“And your friend the Mede?”

“Kamet is Setran,” Costis corrected, knowing as he did so that Kamet would find him ridiculous. As far as he knew, the former slave felt allegiance to no nation; the other guards had informed Costis that, just after his audience with the king, Kamet had been offered sanctuary with the Mede ambassador, and had declined.

“Where will he be?”

“I don’t know,” he said for a third time. “Aris’s letter mentioned that Kamet was providing various ministers with information on the Medes, but as far as I know, he has sworn no oaths to Attolia. He may be gone already.”

“Is there… anyone else who may sway your decision?” his father asked, with a pointed look that Costis didn’t understand.

“What? No, no one.”

He had always hated this chore. He stuck his pruning knife in his belt and walked away, towards the water pump on the side of the house. It wasn’t summer yet, but it was a warm day, and he was grateful for a cool sip of water and a splash on the back of his neck.

After a moment, his father followed him. He leaned against the house with his arms folded, looking down his nose. Costis resisted a childish urge to squirm and stare up at the sky.

“When you hit the king, I wrote to you,” his father said in his low, rumbling voice. “I told you that I had always been proud to have a son in service to the crown, and that I trusted your judgment. That the farm would always be here for you, but that I trusted you to make your own way in the Guard, whether or not I understood.”

Costis nodded again. There was a lump in his throat, and his father’s gaze pinned him down.

“That is still true, Costis. I don’t doubt that there are things you haven’t told us, but I will not press you for more. I will say only that, whether you stay or go, you must make the decision. You cannot live half of one life and half of another, especially when you have sworn your life in another’s service.”

“Thank you, Father,” Costis said quietly. He bowed his head, and his father kissed his brow. Thalia’s voice floated through the open window. She was singing the same tune Costis had sung at the base of the Taymets, but her voice was sweeter.

***

On his second to last night at home, Costis and his family went to Pomea for an open-air poetry recitation in front of the harvest temple, the largest temple in the city. Few of the speakers had Kamet’s skill, but it was a pleasant evening.

The last speaker recited a passage from Enoclitus, and as the crowd applauded, Costis heard a nearby acolyte turn to his friend and say “Have you heard about the scrolls of Enoclitus they discovered just recently?”

“Yes,” his friend replied. “At the main temple in Roa, wasn’t it?”

“So. The priest here tells me that scholars from Ferria are pouring in to work on copying and translating them. If only my archaic was a little better…”

Costis felt as though Hephestia had flung a lightning bolt at him.

“Gods damn him,” he sighed, trusting on the God of Thieves’s blatant favoritism to prevent such a thing from occurring. He fixed his eyes on the marble pediment of the temple as he turned over his newfound revelation. He tried to force his mind to weight the possible outcomes logically, but it was a hopeless endeavor. Costis knew what he was going to do.

His family was huddled around, comparing their favorite recitations and eating from a bag of candied nuts. Costis cleared his throat to get their attention.

“I think I am going to take the king’s suggestion. I sail for Roa in five days.”

***

He spent his last night in Ortia the same way he had spent his first, and then set out for the capital. At the end of his first day on the road, he stopped at a small inn. The landlady asked if he needed anything, and Costis was about to say no—Thalia had sent him off with enough stuffed pies to feed him for a week—but then he changed his mind and asked if it would be possible to find some paper and a pen. She was surprised at the request, but she sent her son off to fetch them and bring them to his room.

Costis flipped the boy a coin and sat down to write a letter to his sister. There would almost certainly be a messenger on the road to Pomea the next morning, and he could ask at the inn before he set off.

_Dear Thalia,_

_You were right, as usual, but I could not bear to tell you in person. There is something else bothering me, and it has to do with my trip to Mede._

_I told you there was a moment when our journey was disrupted because we were being pursued by the emperor’s guard. I didn’t tell you what happened when I tried to get Kamet to fight them with me. He panicked. He told me that slaves were not allowed to even touch a weapon, and I think that the fact he had held a sword was more shocking to him than the fact that he had just been attacked. He was injured and bleeding, and I held him until he calmed down. I felt—I can’t explain what I felt. I think part of me knew then that I loved him, although I had known him less than a month._

_And I do mean love—not love as I feel for you, our father, Achaeus, Aris, or the king and queen, but just as strong. Thalia, sometimes I feel that my heart might burst. I don’t know how I can possibly love so many so strongly. What can I do if one pulls me away from the others? How can I give my complete devotion to one and have anything left for the rest? And (gods forbid) what would happen if I lost any of you? I know that I would need to survive, to serve the rest as best I can, but the prospect terrifies me._

_Perhaps it doesn’t matter, because I don’t know if he loves me in return. Or even likes me very much. I learned later that he had never had any intention of living in Attolia. There were one or two times where, perhaps, some kind of loyalty for me prevented him from going off on his own, but that was before he realized he had fled the court because of a lie. The last time we spoke, he was angry at me. I have been quiet these last few weeks because every day I have thought of him and wondered if he was still angry. I thought about what it would be like if had come with me, to see the farm and the house and to meet you all. I think if he did, he would enjoy it. I have clung to that hope._

_I am sorry for all of this. I’m sure you’re surprised to a letter so soon, and I know it’s the coward’s way out. Maybe this makes you uncomfortable. I don’t know. But I may be gone for a long time, and I owe you and Father an explanation. Thank you for your patience and your kindness these last few weeks (these last twenty years)._

_Costis_

_I may have misrepresented Kamet in this letter. Despite the story I told above, he is very brave and saved my life several times on the journey. He is also funny and very smart, and he tells wonderful stories and translates poetry. I think you would like him, too._

***

The journey back to the capital was not as relaxed as the journey away had been; Costis was worried about missing his boat. But he arrived at the city with hours to spare, and decided to take the hose back to the palace stables himself instead of entrusting her to the city guard. He returned her to a different bored stable boy and then hesitated, glancing up at the sky and trying to calculate the time it would take to check the duty roster and then track down Aris. He hadn’t navigated the palace in a long time, and he would probably get lost.

Just as he was regretfully turning back, though, a voice called out “Costis! Hey, Aris, it’s Costis!”

He craned his head and saw Aris scrambling down the steps of the outer wall. He was in full uniform, and he beamed at Costis.

“You’re back!” he exclaimed, pulling Costis into a brief hug and thumping him on the back. “And you’re leaving!”

“Yes—I was heading down to—”

“Roa?” Aris grinned.

“The docks,” Costis finished, puzzled by his enthusiasm. Then his eyes widened and his heart swelled with hope. Aris grinned wider.

“Popular destination this morning. You’ve got to be on your way, then. First—your family, they were all well when you left?”

“Very, thank you. And here?”

“That idiot Legarus broke his ankle, but other than that, yes. The Mede ambassador has left Attolia, and at his farewell party the king called him by the wrong name twice. Also, he gave me a message for you. The king, not the ambassador.”

He handed over a folded note, written in the king’s hand.

_Arrow to Ferris. Duke’s Road and then Thuk’s Way north to Rince. Hire a riverboat down the Naden into Magyar._

_Be careful with the purse this time, and use it for emergencies only. Keep an eye on the sea._

Costis looked back at Aris, who promptly handed over a spyglass, which Costis slipped into his pack, and a bag that clinked with small coins. There was something else in it, too, something heavier, but Costis elected not to investigate when they were out in the open. He tied the purse to his belt.

“Thanks, Aris. I’d better be going.”

“Safe travels,” Aris said, thumping him on the back again, and Costis headed out of the courtyard and into the city.

Halfway to the docks, he reached down to fondle the purse. It was made of good leather, but thin enough that he could feel the outline of the heavy cylinder, with an engraved face and a thin hoop at the other end. He grinned to himself, and was still grinning when he strolled down the docks and spotted the _Arrow_ , bobbing gently in the tide, with a dark figure leaning on the rail by the stern.

He could tell when Kamet saw him—the figure straightened, and then reluctantly slumped again—and resisted the urge to laugh when he turned his face away. His eyes really were terrible.

Costis walked onto the gangplank and Kamet angled his body to keep him in sight. They were six feet apart when Kamet turned completely, one hand dropping off the rail, and two when Costis stopped. Kamet looked like he was trying to suppress a smile, but his eyes had stars in them.

“Come to see me off?”

Gods, it was good to hear his voice. Costis couldn’t have dampened his own smile if he had tried.

“Come to point out that you are far from plying your trade on a dusty street corner.”

“So,” Kamet laughed. “You were right and I was wrong.”

They stared at each other foolishly for another minute, and Kamet glanced away, looking at the dark water of the bay. Costis’s heart was hammering. There was much he wanted to say, but he couldn’t get the words past his lips.

“Are you—worried by the journey?” he asked.

“I am sure I will manage, though I am not used to traveling alone.”

“Would you like company?”

Kamet did a double take, mouth opening slightly, and Costis had a moment of panic. It was meant to be a rhetorical question, but he had not considered what he would do if the answer was actually no. Gods all, his whole family and half the palace must know he had intended to go to Roa.

“What of your king? Your position here?” Kamet spluttered, and that eased his fears a little.

“It was his suggestion. He sent me to visit with my family for a few weeks and to say goodbye. I took my sister a wedding present,” he added inanely. Kamet still looked wary. “I am going to look like a fool if you say you don’t want me along with you, Kamet,” he said in a gentle voice.

Kamet smiled and looked down at his feet.

“Gods forbid you should look like a fool, Costis.”

“Is that a so, then?”

“So it is.”

A sailor pushed past them brusquely, so they stepped to the side and leaned against the rail, out of the way. Costis remembered suddenly that this was how their first journey together had begun, more or less—boarding a boat. He hoped this trip would be rather less adventurous, but the memory softened the edges of his smile.

That was the first time Kamet had smiled at him, too. He had been upset in the hallway, at the docks, at the theater, boarding the boat (and didn’t _that_ make sense, in retrospect), but he had smiled on the _Anet’s Dream_ , when Costis had remarked on something in his story.

 _Asked Ennikar of Immakuk what have you learned?_   
_Learned about welcome and unwelcome said Immakuk_   
_Wise Immakuk asked Proud Ennikar what he had learned_ _  
Learned I like to wander said Ennikar_

Costis had never thought of himself as a wanderer, but he was beginning to develop a taste for traveling.

“Immakuk and Ennikar,” he said.

“Where?” Kamet exclaimed, whipping his head around to look at the dock, and Costis chuckled again. Kamet hadn’t believed him when he saw Ennikar in Zaboar—now, hale and healthy, Costis wasn’t sure if he believed himself, either—but evidently he had had a change of heart. Costis bumped him with his elbow.

“Idiot. Us.”

“Oh. Of course.”

He continued to scan the dock for a minute. The morning was fading, and a sailor shouted at the crowd that the boat would be pulling away momentarily. No one rushed onto the gangplank, and evidently Kamet didn’t spot any tall southern gentlemen or one-eyed merchants. They leaned against the side of the ship together, waiting for the departure.

 _Now?_ a voice whispered in Costis’s head, and he was worried that he might be blushing. He should have devoted more time to preparing what he would say, but he had been deliberately _not_ thinking about the possibility that Kamet would be waiting on the _Arrow_. He hadn’t wanted to get his hopes up.

He cleared his throat.

“Why didn’t you tell me about the king?” Kamet reproached suddenly.

“I had no idea he was your kitchen boy,” Costis protested, relieved for the interruption.

“Not _that_. I mean…” He waved a hand expressively. “I mean how he _was_. You told me they put sand in his food—”

“They did.”

“—and tried to kill his favorites—”

“They _did_.”

“—and that he was rude and petty and ridiculous—”

“He is!”

“But you didn’t tell me he was…”

He trailed off again and shrugged. Costis was laughing, but after a minute his chuckles subsided and he looked out onto the water. The bay looked calm and slow, a deep slate grey color in the bright morning light. The sails were being unfurled, and there was a loud snap as they caught the wind.

“My king,” he said slowly, “sits on his throne the way a printer’s apprentice sits on a stool in a wine shop. And yet I once saw him sitting in bed, wearing the queen’s night shirt, wielding the gods’ own authority until he made each of his attendants tremble and fear for their lives. I’ve seen him duel with and defeat half a dozen of the best guards in the palace, including a would-be assassin, and then complain that he was hungry and hungover.”

He held his palms up in question. Kamet considered him for a moment, lips toying with a frown and a stubborn line forming between his eyebrows. Finally he sighed.

“I wouldn’t have believed you,” he admitted.

“No one would have believed me. No one _did_ ,” Costis huffed. “I knew what he was _weeks_ before anyone else, and they all thought me a liar.” He shrugged. “It suits the king. He likes it when people underestimate him. He likes proving them wrong. Oh, that reminds me.” He reached into the purse and pulled out the king’s seal. “The king gave me this again, just in case we need it. I can’t imagine we will, but if there’s any trouble it’s good to have.”

He fixed it in his ear again and felt the stone dangle against his jaw. It was good to have it back. Kamet’s face went oddly blank.

“Oh. Is it… do many people have a copy of the king’s seal in Attolia? Or—when they travel outside the country?”

“I don’t think so.”

“But you are special.” Kamet’s lips twitched in a smirk, and Costis laughed.

“I told you—the king is kind.”

“You love him.”

“Yes,” Costis said. He hadn’t been expecting the half-question, but the answer came easily enough. “As I love the queen.”

“No.” Kamet shook his head. Costis considered it.

“No,” he agreed. “It’s different. We—all of us—almost all of us love the queen because most Attolians hate the barons. When I was young, the barons ruled Attolia. Most of them were cruel, and those who weren’t by nature needed to pretend, just to survive the others. And then the queen came.”

He paused, thinking some more, and pointed at the temple on the acropolis.

“Do you see that temple there—no, of course you don’t. Well, it’s the temple of Hephestia, the queen of the old gods. Imagine if this boat was full of our greatest enemies, and suddenly Hephestia climbed out of that temple and stormed down on us, striking all of our enemies with lightning bolts. We would love her for killing our enemies and for not killing us, but we would also be afraid. And if she did kill us, we would hardly think to question her, because who can question the Great Goddess? I know the queen is not a goddess,” he added, remembering her weight in his arms and the king’s worries _Irene…?_ floating through the air. “But I want to believe she is, and she wants me to believe she is. There are only a few, I think, who are allowed to think of her otherwise.”

Kamet nodded slowly. His eyes were intent and his brows drawn in a straight line as he absorbed the information.

“And the king?”

Costis thought for longer this time. He had been answering the same question, more or less, for a month. But he had to be careful with his family—his extended family because they would mock him, and his immediate family because they would worry if they knew how involved Costis had become in the snarl of the court. He wanted to give Kamet a full answer. After a minute, he realized that they were standing at the back of the ship, facing northeast. Facing Eddis.

“Sometimes,” he said slowly, so quiet that Kamet had to lean closer to hear, “the king would dismiss his attendants and have me move a chair so he could sit in his chamber and stare out the window, in the direction of Eddis. He just… sits. Cries sometimes. Never says a word. That was why…” He trailed off, and shook his head. “He does impossible things, but he _is_ mortal. He gets homesick. He hates being king, but he loves doing what a king can do.”

“By which you mean…” Kamet prompted, although he looked like he understood already.

“Pardoning people he likes. Protecting the queen and her interests. Defending the peninsula from the Medes. Helping his friend who is Sounis and his cousin who is Eddis. He’ll do anything for people he claims as his.”

“I see,” Kamet said. “I have been struggling to reconcile the kitchen boy I knew and the king I saw in the throne room. Thank you for sharing your—feelings.”

There was an odd note in his voice, and when Costis looked at him, Kamet was staring at the water below and frowning. His bit on his lower lip and his shoulder sagged, and Costis was confused. What could have prompted such a response? He had assumed that Kamet had come to respect the king, or else why would he going to Roa? It could hardly disappoint him that Costis respected him, too.

It hit him suddenly that Kamet had not said “You respect him.”

His heart began to pound again, and Costis bit his lip, too, to prevent a giddy laugh that would not be taken well. He cleared his throat and watched the water eddying around the hull of the boat. They were pulling away from the shore with more speed, now, navigating around the other boats in the bay, and the water was beginning to froth white.

“Kamet,” he said, marvelling at how calm his voice sounded. “I am here because of my love for one man—and it is not the king.”

He glanced up. His words took a moment to sink in, and then Kamet’s eyes widened and flickered up to meet his.

“Ah.”

Kamet looked like he wanted to say more, but all he did was smile. He looked away from Costis again, shoulders hunched. His right hand slid across the rail of the boat and Costis covered it with his own. His fingers were cold, and Costis wondered if he had been waiting on the deck long. It was a warm day, but the ocean breeze was chilly.

“I thought, perhaps…” Kamet paused. He swallowed. “I thought you might hate me,” he admitted.

“Hate you?”

“I went straight to my room and cried.”

“Kamet…”

“And then your stupid king sent you away for _weeks_ to make me feel bad. Why are you _laughing_?”

“I’m sorry,” Costis choked. He squeezed Kamet’s hand tighter when the other man tried to yank it away indignantly. “I’m sorry. But I spent the whole time away moping because I thought you might hate _me_. I sat down to write you a letter four times, and lost my courage. I was whining to Aris up to the very moment I left. I think we might both be idiots, Kamet.”

“Perhaps.”

He considered this for a moment, and then deliberately reached over with his other hand and plucked Costis’s away. He took a step closer and directed Costis to wrap an arm around his shoulders. Costis obeyed, holding him so close that he was sure the other man could feel the hopeful flutter of his heart.

Kamet settled against his chest, and wordlessly they watched as Attolia shrank into the distance.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this and want to leave a comment but don’t know what to say, I always love hearing your favorite lines, favorite character interaction, or the part that reminded you most strongly of the books. You can also find me on tumblr at @whocalledhimannux.


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